


it's hard to look behind you (when your back's up against the wall)

by AustinB



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Except not really because they talk about it, Its more like Mating but Under Less than Ideal Circumstances, M/M, Marking, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Bucky Barnes, Omegaverse, Porn with Feelings, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Scent Marking, Smut, There should be a tag for that, WWII, forced mating, mostly just to advance the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustinB/pseuds/AustinB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever?" </p><p>Steve doesn't need him to clarify. "Not with..." </p><p>As he trails off, Bucky's expression darkens. Whether with jealousy of him being with someone else, or of not being told, he can't tell.</p><p>"An Omega? Or a man?"</p><p>"Either?"</p><p>Bucky's grin is a little bit predatory. "I'm all kinds of firsts for you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's hard to look behind you (when your back's up against the wall)

When the building falls, Steve's arrhythmia flares up.

All he wants is to run to where Bucky was stationed; where the top of his head was just visible over the roof's edge, before the bomb in the basement turned it into a pile of rubble. It takes all of his willpower, and probably most of his future reserves, to shout out commands to the rest of the Howling Commandos; give them the leadership they need in the firefight.

The Howlies are retreating, but they'll regroup in the woods outside of the Italian town and be fine. They draw the fire away so Steve can dash toward the building. A German straggler fires on Steve and the bullet bites into the skin at his hip before he can whip his shield up. With a flick of his wrist, the soldier is dead and the shield is on his back again. The bullet wound stings, but he ignores the blood trickling down his thigh as he picks through the cement blocks and wrecked apartments. He can't smell him; the standard US Army blockers make sure of that, but he can hear him. Shifting, grunting; Steve stays quiet, in case there are more Germans lingering, and heaves the largest bits of wreckage away.

And there he is, dirty, a little bloody, but alive and well. He grins up at Steve.

"That was fun."

"Yeah, like the cyclone was fun?"

"Hey, the cyclone _was_ fun," Bucky insists, as Steve reaches down into the wreckage. Bucky takes his hand and wriggles free, fabric tearing somewhere, but he pulls himself up, falling against Steve.

"Y'okay?"

Bucky presses a hand to his temple, where there's dried, dusty blood.

"Whacked my head a good'un."

"You probably have a concussion. Come on." Steve half-drags Bucky behind the buildings, heading toward the woods, but there's another troop of Germans marching down the cobblestones, so they turn the other way and skirt through the town. Steve picks a building at random at the far edge of the town and pulls Bucky into it. It's abandoned, like everything else, and they pick their way slowly, quietly, up to the top floor. The apartment is sacked, furniture tipped over, cupboards open, curtains ripped off the windows. Steve deposits Bucky on the floral print couch, then shoves it away from the window.

"Hey," Bucky protests, wincing. Steve peeks out the tattered curtains, but there aren't any Germans in their sight line, yet. Already he's processing the situation, forming a plan. First, he needs to take care of Bucky.

He finds a relatively clean rag in the kitchen and wets it from his canteen.

"C'mere," he says, kneeling in front of his friend, who's sitting on the couch with his head hanging between his knees.

"Feel like I'm gonna hurl."

Yeah, it's a concussion alright. "There's a joke about the cyclone somewhere in there. Lift your head." He obeys, but squeezes his eyes shut as Steve cleans the gash at his temple. He has a small med kit on his belt, and when he reaches down for it, he realizes it's gone, along with the pocket that held his backup blockers.

"Shit," he mutters, and Bucky's eyes pop open.

"That's never a good sign."

He goes with the least bad of the two. "You'll have to do without a bandage." But Bucky knows him better than that.

"And?"

"I lost my blockers."

Bucky looks down for the pocket on his own belt, but his fingers fumble the snaps so Steve reaches down to help.

"This one?" Bucky nods, but Steve can already tell they're gonna have a problem. The pocket Bucky keeps the blockers in is torn at the bottom from his tumble in the rubble. There are three pills left. He holds them up on his palm.

"Shit."

"We'll save them for you," Steve says, because if Steve goes into heat he'll get aggressive and territorial, which is actually kind of a good thing in this situation. He might want to grope Bucky a little, but considering the circumstances, and the alternative, they can probably get past that. But if Bucky goes into heat, he'll attract all the Alphas within 200 yards. 

Bucky's looking grim. "I need two, these days. They did somethin' to me." Steve doesn't need him to clarify who. "I got a tolerance for 'em now or somethin."

"Ok. You take two tomorrow, and if we're still stuck here, you take the last one the next day and we make a break for it."

Bucky shakes his head. "You gotta take the one. One of us has gotta keep a clear head."

"My head'll be fine." Bucky grins wryly and Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Shut up and lie down."

"What a line. Bet you got all the dames swoonin'," Bucky says as he shuffles down on the couch. 

In the morning, Bucky wakes with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes are a little glassy and when Steve touches the back of his hand to his skin, Bucky's eyes flutter closed.

"You're going into heat."

"Might be just an infection."

Steve leans to the side, but the cut on Bucky's head isn't only not infected, it's almost healed. Steve gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He's felt this foreboding before, when Bucky has heard things he shouldn't have been able to hear, or sees things too far away for the rest of the Howlies except him.

Steve shakes his head. Either the blockers just failed or the adrenaline and whatever else Bucky has in him made him burn through them quicker than before.

"Take all three. Maybe it'll stop it." Steve pulls the pills from the pocket on his belt and holds them up to his friend. 

"And what if it don't? Then we're fucked. Save 'em for you. If we gotta hole up here for the next week, you gotta keep your wits." Bucky probably doesn't mean it as a warning, but Steve still prickles. He'd never take advantage of Bucky in a heat; never. Not even if he went into heat, too. It must show on his face because Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Not for me, you idiot. I mean yeah, for me, but not like that. I know you." He says the last part softer, and Steve gets hit with a scent rolling off Bucky in waves: trust. It makes the Alpha in him preen. But Steve still shakes his head.

"Take them."

"It's not gonna work."

"We have to try."

Bucky glares, his jaw set mulishly.

"Take them," Steve says again and it's not only a command from Captain America, it's a command from an Alpha. Bucky could choose to ignore it, but his eyes widen for a second before he squints again.

"That's not fair," he says, even as he snatches the pills from Steve's hand and dry-swallows them. Steve goes to the window so Bucky won't see the flush in his face, the thrill of being obeyed.

"Yeah, well, life's not fair." He doesn't mean to sound so bitter. 

Steve is optimistic that the blockers worked that afternoon. Bucky's stopped sweating and is up and moving around, helping Steve keep watch. But the German troop has stopped at the other end of town, and scouts wander the streets at uneven intervals.

Bucky's standing at the window watching when Steve comes up behind him, peeking over his shoulder at the soldier below.

"We gotta make a break for it."

Bucky jumps, like he hadn't known Steve was there, and he turns to glare over his shoulder, eyes flashing gold. Steve takes a step backward and Bucky goes back to watching out the window.

"If we can't slip past them quietly, the whole troop will come. And we don't know where the boys are; if they stayed put or if they went back to base for help, or if they're comin around the back." Bucky's voice quivers every other word and Steve leans in ever so slightly to sniff the air. Bucky smells like every good thing he's ever wanted to eat. Apples and cinnamon and thick hearty soup. He smells like he _wants_  to be tasted, and Steve shuffles ungracefully to the other side of the room. Bucky deflates.

"They didn't work."

"It's ok," Steve says automatically. "Sit down." Bucky sits on the edge of the couch, and now that Steve can see his face, he can see the paleness of his skin, the fever in his eyes.

"It's ok," he says again, handing Bucky his canteen. "Drink it." 

"We gotta save—"

"Drink it." He tries not to use the Alpha timbre of his voice, but it comes on automatically. Bucky glares a little, but drinks the water. "I'm going next door to try to find some more."

Steve escapes the stifling room, grateful to have a purpose. He finds a glass bottle of soda and a tin of sardines that he brings back to Bucky like an offering, setting them at his feet. Bucky looks at them, then up at Steve, who shrugs.

Steve watches out the window while Bucky falls further and further into his heat. He's shucked his jacket and sweater, leaving him in a white tank, but Steve stopped him from taking off his boots. He'll need them in case they have to run. He's curled up facing the couch back and alternately pulling his jacket around him and throwing it off. 

"Steve," he whines when dusk has fallen, then huffs, angry with himself for the plea in his tone. "You gotta get outta here," he bites out. "I can smell you. It ain't helping."

"Shit, sorry," Steve mutters, as if he could've helped it, and forages some more in the adjoining apartments, then sits outside the door, listening to Bucky moan and whine. He's rock hard himself, and thinks about jerking off in the hallway, but he's sure Bucky would be able to smell it when he went back inside, and that's not gonna help either of them. 

Just before dawn, Bucky calls out to him. Steve scrambles up and throws himself inside the room. Bucky's sitting up on the couch, pants unbuttoned, hair mussed and sweaty. His eyes are almost completely black, a thin ring of blue around the pupil when he looks at Steve. He holds his hand out to him and Steve hits his knees next to the couch. If Bucky told him to jump out the window right now he probably would. Bucky fists his hand in the hair at the back of his neck and Steve's vision goes a little blurry. 

"Steve—I'm dyin'," he says, feverish and desperate. Steve shakes his head, gently removes Bucky's hand from his hair and moves him back down onto the couch. Bucky moans at the contact, at being pushed down, his head tipping up to bare his throat. Steve swallows hard. He could just dip his head and...

"You'll be ok, Buck."

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the rejection. "It's never been this bad." 

"It's 'cause I'm here," Steve winces. "I'm sorry Bucky."

"You gotta—Stevie, please—you gotta—" he's squirming, one hand pressing against his crotch outside of his pants.

It's getting harder for Steve to think straight, to remember the reasons why this is a bad idea. Bucky can tell, and he reaches out with his other hand to touch Steve's face.

"You'll help me, won't you Stevie?" he whispers, and Steve is already leaning in to bury his face in Bucky's neck, nosing at the scent there. He moans against Bucky's skin at the explosion of color behind his eyelids, the feel of the Omega's scorching skin. He smells like summer and cotton candy and every good memory Steve has.

Steve puts his hand over Bucky's, where it's pressing against his cock and grinds it down. Bucky's moan, breathy, hot and straight into Steve's ear, makes Steve's hips buck, searching for friction. He slips his fingertips under the waistband of Bucky's underwear and wraps his hand around his cock. Just feeling, testing. Bucky grabs frantically at Steve's shoulders with both hands, trying to pull the Alpha on top of him. Steve turns his face to press his lips against the underside of Bucky's jaw, and the Omega stills. Steve strokes Bucky's cock as he presses kisses along his face and when their mouths meet, hot and open and wet, Bucky comes into his fist. 

"Christ almighty," Bucky swears when he comes down, and Steve laughs against his cheek, giddy. Steve takes the handful of cum into the kitchen and finds some more towels. He takes one back over to Bucky, who's sat up. He hands it to him, and he lifts his shirt to wipe the cum off his stomach.

Bucky glances surreptitiously at Steve's face, and whatever he finds there makes relief breaks out across his features. 

"Don't get cocky."

"Too late, probably." Steve moves to glance out into the early-morning light. There are two soldiers chatting in the street a block away. He can feel Bucky's eyes on his back, burning into him. He looks over his shoulder; if he turns bodily there'll be no ignoring the hard line of his erection.

"Have you ever...?" Steve doesn't need him to clarify. 

"Not with..." As he trails off, Bucky's expression darkens. Whether with jealousy of him being with someone else, or of not being told, he can't tell.

"An Omega? Or a man?"

"Either?" There'd been a sweet Beta girl in the USO tour, and it had been nice, but this was something else entirely. Steve felt it in his bones, in his blood; the feeling of belonging, of  _home_. 

Bucky's grin is a little bit predatory and Steve's cock twitches. "I'm all kinds of firsts for you."

"Should I...?" he says, so that he doesn't say something else. He flicks his eyes to the door, then back to Bucky.

Bucky shakes his head. His face is flushed already from...what they'd just done, but Steve thinks he'd be blushing if he could. "Stay."

Steve nods, looks back out the window. He's not sure what to do. Should he sit with him? Wait to be beckoned? A bead of sweat trickles down his spine.

"What do I smell like? To you, right now?" 

Steve takes a deep involuntary breath through his nose. He's keeping an eye on the soldiers outside when he answers. "Apple and cinnamon right outta the oven. Soup with carrots and bread. The sun over Coney island. Cotton candy and maple syrup."

He could go on, but his voice threatens to break, so he stops.

"All good things," Bucky observes, satisfied but still a little unsure. Steve turns to lean his shoulders back against the wall so he can glance out the window if he needs to, but still keep his eyes on Bucky.

"The best." The honesty in his voice surprises him and he looks down, blushing.

"Don't get bashful on me now," Bucky says, and there's that pleading note in his voice again. Steve looks up again and watches, transfixed, as Bucky leans back onto the couch and shucks his pants down just enough for his cock to bob free. It falls heavily against his stomach, red and leaking. Steve hasn't had this hard of a time breathing since before the serum. Bucky wraps one hand around the base of his cock, and stretches the other hand out to Steve.

He doesn't need to say anything; Steve can smell the desire in the air and he's powerless against it. He wants to climb on top of him, tear his clothes off, _own_ him, and it's terrifying. So he kneels between his legs and leans over him, licking the precome from the head of his cock.

Bucky's hips jerk up, so Steve holds them down as he licks his shaft up and down before taking his cock into his mouth and sucking hard. 

"For fuck's sake," Bucky's saying, cursing a blue streak and petting gently at Steve's hair. Steve moves one hand from Bucky's hip to open his fly and when Bucky comes hard in the back of his throat, he spills into his own hand. 

Bucky's falling hard into his heat, and he slides down to lie on the couch while Steve cleans them up. He's shivering again, his body still unsatisfied, wanting more, and Steve wraps him in his jacket and takes watch. 

Bucky tosses fitfully for a few hours. He's been still for twenty minutes and Steve is hopeful he's fallen asleep, but then he starts to apologize. "Steve, I'm—"

"Don't," Steve says gently, turning from the window to find Bucky's eyes on him. He sits on the edge of the couch and smoothes Bucky's sweaty hair from his forehead. "Try to get some sleep." Bucky's face is still pinched and pained, so he says, "You're doing so good, Buck." Bucky sighs at the praise and Steve knows him well enough to know that he wants to hear it again, but won't ask. "You are. So good."

He hasn't asked for it, and he'll probably be fine for another few hours, but Steve leans over him to nose against his neck. Heat is pulsing down his spine and there's something ancient and powerful trying to claw its way up from his chest. He licks at Bucky's neck, but before he can cover his best friend with his body, he hears the clank of metal outside the window and pulls himself away. Bucky whines and Steve shushes him gently.

The German tanks are moving toward them. They're still over a mile away, and moving slowly, but as they go, soldiers are kicking in the doors of the apartment buildings. They come out with cans, bottles, women's undergarments, framed pictures.

They have to move. Steve pulls Bucky up by his shoulders.

"Bucky, baby, we have to go." He hoists Bucky up and half drags him to the door. When they're down the stairs, Steve hears boots on the ground, far closer than he expected. Bucky leans against the wall, feverish but alert, while Steve glances outside. There are six soldiers strolling up ahead, waiting for the tank to catch up. It's too close. Bucky can't run; it'll draw them all and he's got a finite number of bullets. 

Steve pulls Bucky back up the stairs. "Steve, what?" There's a plan formulating at the back of his mind. It's a terrible, horrible plan, but it'll give them the best chance at survival. If it works. 

Steve deposits Bucky back onto the couch and kneels in front of him. 

"Bucky, listen, I don't know where the Howlies are or when they'll come. But I know there will be more Germans. I might be able to take them, but if they get to you, like this..."

Bucky looks away, ashamed. Steve wants to shake him, then gather him into his arms, but there isn't time.

"There's something I could try. Might help me fight. Might make them...stay away from you-"

Bucky looks up sharply, catching his drift. "But you're not..."

Not in rut.

Steve finds it hard to believe that there's anything that would make him fight any harder for Bucky than he already would, but he'd read the textbooks in school along with everyone else. If there's a bond between them and his Omega is threatened, Alphas have been known to exhibit superhuman strength. Bucky, once mated, would stop sending out hormones that call to Alphas and instead send out hormones to repel them, except for the bonded Alpha. If they get captured, the chance of his heat triggering another Alpha's dips to almost zero.

"I'm gettin' there. Besides, I think it'll work anyway, because of...how I feel. About you." 

The _stupid, hopeless in love_ is implied. The omission costs him greatly. He's just tipped his hand; 15 years of pining laid out like an embarrassing—

"Do it," Bucky says, still looking at the floorboards. If he doesn't _want_ it, if he's only agreeing for the chance at surviving, they'll have a whole other set of problems.

"Are you sure? This isn't something we can take back."

When Bucky looks up, his eyes are bright and clear. He shrugs. 

"I always kinda figured it'd be me and you anyway, in the end."

Steve feels like he's been punched in the chest. If it's true—if he's not just lying to make the decision easier for Steve—he might have to kick his ass for holding out on him. But, he supposes that could go both ways, too.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"We don't have a lotta time. I wish I could—"

"It's ok, Steve." Bucky shoots him a small smile, full of trust and—affection at least, if not love. Steve presses up to kiss him. Bucky lays back on the couch, shucking his pants. Steve pushes his low enough to get his cock free. Despite there being enemies closing in on them, Steve's still hard, gets harder still with the sight of Bucky laid out under him. He spits into his hand and slicks himself, then pushes into Bucky's tight heat. He's loose already from his own handiwork, but it still probably burns. There's not much time to be gentle, so Steve mutters apologies against his neck as he moves inside him.

Bucky's grunts of discomfort turn to moans of pleasure and Steve can hardly believe it. To be joined with him like this, like he'd fantasized about for years, it's better than anything he's ever felt. He feels the knot at the base of his cock and growls.

"Bucky, Bucky."

"Yeah, Stevie, _do it_ ," is the reply, and when Steve comes, he bites down on Bucky's shoulder. The blood on his tongue is tangy and sweet and it makes sparks fly behind his eyes. There's an incredible rush in his ears, like he's just jumped out of an airplane. 

When he comes to, he hears the door of the building splinter on its hinges and he slowly pulls himself free of Bucky. Bucky's got his own cum pooling on his stomach, a dazed, reverent look on his face and blood on his shoulder. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

The fight is a blur. At one point he sees Bucky next to him, bloodied and with a wet spot on his shirt, but steely-eyed and firing a pistol.

Then Dugan is there, then there are trees around them. He blinks and realizes they're standing in the woods with the Howlies and he's got a hand wrapped around the back of Bucky's neck. Bucky's smiling at him like he's—like he's _happy_ , but maybe that's just because they got out alive, and the guys are clapping them on their shoulders. Something in Steve's smile must look not quite right, because their congratulations and well-wishes die out, and they don't talk much after that.

**

Steve's heat has been satisfied, so it peters out by the time they get back to base. While Bucky goes to the infirmary, Steve goes to report.

"Sergeant Barnes sustained a concussion, so we found a vantage point and stayed put, but our supply of blockers had been lost. He went into heat first, and then I went into a rut." He recounts everything clinically, start to finish, staring at a point on the far wall. 

"We'll have to put out a statement," Philips says.

"A statement?" 

"Captain America takes a mate? That's the kind of thing people want to know about. It's not like we'll be able to keep it a secret for long."

"Not that we would want to," Peggy says, bristle in her voice. 

Philips shoots her a look. "Of course not."

Colonel Phillips thanks him and Peggy follows him out, a hand between his shoulder blades. She steers him to a back hallway and places a hand on his arm. It's comforting in a way it wasn't before. 

"You did the right thing," she murmurs, and he exhales heavily. 

"Peggy, I'm sorry." She waves a hand dismissively. Her lack of reaction is the most comforting thing she could've done, as if it was always going to be this way.

He wants to hug her, but he still smells like sweat and cum, so he just shoots her a smile.

Once he's washed, he heads to the mess hall. It's deserted at two in the afternoon, except for his team. The five of them are crowded around a table that's only meant for four, ruffling Bucky's hair and ribbing him happily. When they see him, they shout things that make him blush and look sidelong for anyone he needs to apologize to. 

Bucky's smiling at him fondly, biting his lower lip a little shyly. The bond mark is pretty; pink and white, visible just above the collar of his shirt. Steve's heart is bigger now, but it still can't take this. Some part of him acknowledges that Bucky's _his_ , but the rest of him knows that Bucky couldn't have meant it. He couldn't want a frail, sickly Alpha—no wait, that's not him anymore—he's big and strong; the perfect Alpha. So why doesn't he see it when he looks in the mirror?

Steve loads his plate with whatever food they have, then stops by the table. They shove over for him, nearly knocking Dernier off the other end of the bench, but he shakes his head.

"I'm still kinda...I'm gonna," he jerks his thumb behind him. The big smiles at the table dampen.

Bucky stands, and Jones and Falsworth lean away to let him swing his leg over the bench. "You want me to—?"

"No, no," he says quickly. "I'm ok. I'll be ok." He tries not to look at the shock that crosses Dugan's face, then retreats like the coward that he is.

**

The next day he's heading to the yard when he passes by the barracks. Bucky's walking toward him a little slowly, eyes on his feet. Steve's hackles go up. 

"Buck?"

Bucky looks up, alarmed, and everything about this is wrong. He's pale, dark circles under his eyes and the bond mark is an angry red.

"Steve, I'm sorry," he says quickly, then blinks, as if confused. "I'm sorry for what you had to do." Then he collapses against Steve's chest.

It isn't quite like the firefight they endured just after mating, but similar in the way Steve acts on instinct, as though watching his actions from somewhere outside his body. Bucky is in the infirmary and Steve is outside the door talking to the doctor when he becomes aware of his fists clenched tightly, the muscles in his shoulders and back tensed, ready to swing.

There's nothing visibly wrong with him. Nothing broken, no cuts or internal injuries. They're going to run some more tests and keep him under observation. Steve has been pacing between the infirmary and the mess hall, being carefully avoided by all when the doctor fetches him to his office.

"He's rejecting the bond."

Steve chokes. The doctor blanches, and hurries to explain.

"I don't think he knows he's doing it. We still don't know exactly how the brain is wired into it, but all systems in the body are connected, and the brain controls it all. Hormones, heat cycles. We see this sometimes in case of severe trauma."

"But we talked about it. We decided—"

"I read the report," the doctor says gently. "The circumstances were less than ideal for a good bond. From what I can tell, he believes you only did it to protect him. If he has compelling reason to think _you_ don't want this bond, he may unconsciously reject it for your sake."

"What happens if he rejects it?"

The doctor tips his head in less than confident shrug. "It'll be about a week of severe flu-like symptoms. We can keep him hydrated here and he'll probably be fine. But there may be issues with bonding in the future. And," the doctor looks down at the clipboard in his hand, flips pages idly. "an aversion to the rejected Alpha."

Steve thinks his heart might break, and the doctor must see it, because he makes a sympathetic noise.

"It's not far enough along yet, you might be able to reverse it."

"Me?"

"You're the only one who can make him believe you want the bond with him. To make him accept it."

Steve thinks back on his actions the past few days. Since mating, he hasn't been the best Alpha to Bucky. Or even a good friend. 

Of course he can fix this. Purpose fills his chest: protect his Omega. The doctor points him down the hall to Bucky's room. It smells like him, the two of them together, but in a sour way, like something that's been heaved back up.

Bucky's got his eyes closed, a grimace pinching his features, and his hands tucked together over his stomach. When he hears the door, he looks over.

"Steve, what's goin on? They won't tell me anything."

Steve sits in the chair next to the little bed and puts his hand on Bucky's arm. His skin is hot.

"Steve?"

"Do you remember your first heat?"

Bucky huffs. "Not likely to forget it."

Steve runs his hand up and down the back of Bucky's forearm until he looses it from his stomach and Steve can take his hand. Bucky's watching his face carefully, confused, but letting it play out.

"I was stayin' over and woke up just sweatin'. You were out of it, but you kept saying my name."

Bucky's throat clicks when he swallows and Steve stands from the chair. Bucky's eyes follow him. He bends over to lean his hands on either side of Bucky's head. His blue eyes go wide.

"I was always yours." Steve gets one knee up on the bed, then swings the other over on the other side of Bucky's hips. His pink lips part on a gasp. "And now you're mine. Do you understand?"

Bucky nods once.

"Say it," Steve commands in a whisper.

"Yours," Bucky says immediately.

"Good." The color's back in his cheeks, but Steve wants to see it darker, so he dips to kiss him. Bucky's lips part automatically and he sighs into Steve's mouth.

"Steve, I didn't—I didn't think—"

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've said. I've always loved you. I just hope you can—"

Bucky huffs. "I do. Of course I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Steve shuffles down and Bucky budges over so Steve can curl around him like a blanket, kissing the back of his neck until his temperature drops back to normal.

The Doctor kicks them out after taking Bucky's vitals an hour later. 

It takes Steve a few days to figure out how to keep his hands to himself in public; displays of possession are almost as bad as affection. Bucky pretends to be annoyed, but is not-so-secretly delighted. He gratifies the need to show off when they go out for drinks in the little Italian towns; wraps a hand around the back of Bucky's neck lightly and is rewarded with an indulgent smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Butch Walker's "I Been Waiting for This"  
> Google the man. you won't be disappointed.


End file.
